


Rememberances on skin

by Gondolin



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Blanket Permission, Gen, Obi misses the 212th, Old Ben Kenobi, Podfic Welcome, Tatooine, Tatooine Exile, Tattoos, disreputable cantinas, war veteran General Kenobi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-06
Updated: 2018-07-06
Packaged: 2019-06-06 07:37:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15189971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gondolin/pseuds/Gondolin
Summary: Ben Kenobi dislikes Empire Day, gets drunk, and shares the story behind some of his tattoos.





	Rememberances on skin

**Author's Note:**

> What's a [Kalikori](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Kalikori).  
> Obi-Wan's robe was [a gift from Anakin](https://captaingondolin.tumblr.com/post/172495960863/gffa-lone-wolf-just-when-i-thought-i).

Old Ben was not a familiar sight in Mos Espa, but he was nevertheless a local – if anyone knew him as anything else, they had long forgotten, and besides, he had arrived wearing robes of rough Tatooine cloth and the resigned expression of those used to the desert. 

The only establishment he frequented with any regularity was the most disreputable cantina, with known anti-Imperial leanings. And, without fail, he would show up in the early afternoon of Empire Day and get progressively drunker, up until the true highlight of everyone's evening, when he started telling stories of the Clone Wars. 

No one fully believed him, yet no one was ready to dismiss everything as an old hermit's ramblings. There was such conviction, such richness of detail in his stories. Some swore he made it all up, that he was the mad relative of this or that family, and that he had never even left the planet. Others whispered that they'd seen him move things without touching them and run like an old man never could, that he was from a forgotten breed whose name alone was treason. 

When old Ben was drunk enough he's shed his brown cloak and roll up his sleeves in the stuffy heat of the cantina. Suns and cares had prematurely aged him, but he was attractive, if you liked humans, and he looked like he could have been a soldier. His arms were thin, but still showed the outline of hard muscle. 

There was a black Republic symbol peeking out from his collarbone. His arms were covered in multicoloured sleeves, each design interlacing with the next. Some told stories of outlandish adventures with pirates - “I was member of the crew for only a day, but they insisted!” Old Ben would laugh fondly – while others turned his expression wistful, a shimmering vision of a giant room with thousands of fountains and gardens almost visible in the air... Even people who had never left the desert felt for a moment the longing for a home far away. One shape was the reproduction of a bead on a Kalikori, one that had been dedicated to him after saving a life on Ryloth. Ryloth was one of his favourite stories, with wild beasts, a child in danger and kind-hearted men. Of one, a braid curling around his wrist, he never spoke. 

"This," he slurred one evening, pointing to now fading orange ink on his right forearm, "Is the colour of the 212th attack battalion. We were the best. The best. The man who inked me might still be out there. Who knows. Good man, that one. Poor man." 

“Weren’t they all Clones, in the army?” 

“Most of them, yes. There were some natural-born officers...” Old Ben trailed off and shrugged, as if those weren’t worthy of his memory, and took another sip of whatever rotgut of the day was in his chipped mug. 

“Weren’t they like animals? Could only fight, had to be kept on a leash? My uncle said...” 

Before the ill-informed newcomer could say another word, he had a glowing column of plasma at his throat. Old Ben could indeed still move like a young man. His eyes, no longer vague and unfocused, had an intensity, a power that no one in that cantina could deny. “Insult the men I served with again, and it will be the last thing you say.” 

Then, quick as he’d leaped forward, he turned off his weapon and slumped back down on his chair, head in his hands. “We failed them,” he muttered, “We failed everyone.”

**Author's Note:**

> I regret everything and I am very sad. Why do I do this to myself. Especially the Clones-insulting dickhead. I want to enter my own fic and punch him.  
> (Also, I kinda wanted to tag for that, but didn't know how. Clones slurs? Besides, maybe the tag count shouldn't be longer than the actual word count? Ugh.)
> 
> The guy who inked Obi-Wan is supposed to be Cody, but I feel like Obi-Wan wouldn't quite manage to get his name out, not in public like that. I just have a lot of feelings about Cody and Obi-Wan.


End file.
